A/N: I love waking up and finding all kinds of notifications in my email, you guys are simply amazing! Thank you so much for the support, I appreciate it. I love you guys so much I decided to give you guys another chapter, but I apologize for any typos since this was put together while I was watching The Walking Dead marathon. Haha. Once again many thank yous are going out! Reviews are fuel!
Disclaimer: I don't own.
I write Sins, Not Tragedies
10.
The room fell into a peaceful calm after the latest round of coupling. The candles that once provided light had long since burned out, and nothing but the dim lighting from the moon filled the room.
Thyliase lie snuggled up close to the god's still form, slumbering contentedly, when Loki himself lie awake. For some reason he couldn't sleep. It wasn't the first time sleep eluded him when he wanted it so desperately, but it was the first time he didn't have a reason.
His father was no longer an issue, Thor had chosen to live out the rest of his days on Midgar, his lover was at his side, so why? Why was his mind racing, calculating, preparing for something that wasn't there?
Loki shifted slightly in the crisp linens they lay in, the fresh scent still woven in the threads, and Thyliase moved with him. She mumbled something under her breath in her sleep, then released a soft sigh against his bare chest as she rested near him.
Yes, how long had it been since he shared his bed so intimately?
Since he actually invited someone to stay longer with him instead of requesting they take leave once he'd gotten what it was he wanted.
Loki honestly couldn't remember when, but his grip around the shifter's trimmed waist tightened.
He continued to stare up at the ceiling, how quiet the palace was. His head turned to face the nearest wall, easily making out the outline of the large painting that hung behind a thin black veil. Something he covered simply because he wasn't ready to look at it just yet.
It was a portrait of his past, when he was a young and eager child, at his mother's side.
Loki could remember the day like it happened yesterday.
He hadn't been thrilled about the portrait, Loki was one of those kids that hated sitting still for long periods of time, and had snuck off while his mother wasn't paying attention. He'd ran off into the fields behind the western wing of the palace, where the fields were painted pink, yellow, and white during that time of year. Loki must have ran until his little feet ached before he heard Frigga call.
She was like an angel, gliding through the field of tall grass. Her lightly tanned skin was clothed in an ivory silk gown, her hair free and flowing elegantly behind her. She hadn't been upset, she didn't scold him. Instead she smiled her sweet smile of hers, told him not to run off without her again, and gently took his hand.
That was the painting.
A mother smiling, graceful, heavenly, holding her son's hand.
How the painter did it, and where he had been, Loki to the day had no idea. But the caption had been perfect, both of them mid stride, both of them happy.
There was always so much love and hope in Frigga's eyes, even as he cursed and raged, even as he disappointed.
Frigga loved her sons to the end.
Loki heaved a quivering sigh before turning his attention back to the ceiling.
"Why did you do it?" Frigga closed the book she'd been reading, sitting it on the table at her side. Her tone was scolding but her eyes were soft.
"What did I do exactly?"
"Do not answer me with a question, young man. Thor is very upset, and he deserves an apology."
"The whore was acting like a bitch, I simply made her more realistic to the part. I did him a favor, it is not my fault he cannot see that."
"Well he doesn't see it that way. How would you feel if the woman you were with had a spell put on her?"
Loki simply scoffed, rolling his eyes as his arms folded defensively at his chest.
"First off, if I did have an interest I would at least hope she carried herself better than most of the women I've seen hovering about the palace after Thor has had his way with them. Besides, right now I am interested in my studies."
"True, but you are still young my son and one day you are going to grow up. You are going to fall in love, and you are going to want whomever you are with to be respected. That is all your brother wants from you. I thought I raised a gentleman, not an animal." Frigga too folded her arms, her gaze challenging him to say anything else.
Defeated Loki sighed, letting his arms fall limp to his side. "Alright…"
His mother smiled, getting to her feet. "Come here, my little trickster."
Loki could remember the smell of Frigga's warm skin. She always wore the same scent, a floral scent that was light enough to not be overpowering, but was strong enough for anyone to recognize.
"Mother…" It was a soft call into the darkness of night as he finally slipped off into a deep sleep.
OoOoOoO
Red.
Red.
Red.
All she saw was red.
Screaming.
Someone was screaming.
Someone was crying for help.
Desperate, pleading, the wails were deafening.
There was a fire?
Yes.
The air was thick, heavy, hot from the smoke that flooded in.
What was happening?
Where was Loki?
Was this Asgard?
She gazed out of the remains of a once elegant stained glass window, staring out into the darkness of night. The sky was otherwise dark, unwelcoming, with the exception of the many fire that lit up the vast heavens in varying shades of orange.
All of the beauty and life her new home had once represented was now gone, shattered, beaten, and bruised.
Loki…
Where was Loki?
Who had done this?
Her feet carried her slowly down the corridor that led to the throne room, every inch of her felt heavy, weighted. She tried to call out for him, but not a sound was made. She felt for her throat, drawing back when her fingertips connected with a warm liquid.
It was blood.
Warm.
Sticky.
Metallic.
It was her own.
She was hurt.
It was her whom was bleeding.
She pushed open the golden door, shielding herself from the intense heat that greeted her.
Behind the wall of flames, behind the many fallen pillars, there he was.
Tall, broad shoulders squared as the beholder straightened. Their copper skin stained red. Eyes just as dark as her own stared back at her, holding out a hand for her to take.
There was nowhere for her to run.